The Piss Off Club
by JustInunotaisho
Summary: A clash of personalities and a bag of skittles. A peaceful fic, in the sense that Grimmjow is not attempting to destroy the world, nor Ichigo fighting on purpose, nor Zaraki blowing up soul society, or...well, just read. UPDATED!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Bit of a crack fic and I thought that the title was necessary, even if it is rude. All the characters I mention, with a few exceptions, possess an aura about them that growls, "Piss off, already" when placed direct contact with each other.

An American sub sandwich. Turkey, Mustard, a little Mayo. Yuzu's kitchen experiments seem to produce more American food lately. Probably due to her new crush on Tom Cruise. Last week, it was Sean Bean and something called "Irish Stew" in his lunch.

The orange haired Shinigami shrugs and bites into the food. As he chews, Kurosaki Ichigo nods to himself. _It's good, Yuzu_, he thinks, _next time, I'll take it without mayo, though._

A shadow falls across his face, a tall lean form blocking out the sun. At the edges of the form, sunlight beams through two lenses, furthering Ichigo's habitual frown and squint combination.

It's the same routine today. With a snort, Ichigo takes another bite and growls through a mouthful, "Go away."

As usual, Ishida Uryuu ignores the rudeness and sits down next to him, unwrapping his bento box, self-prepared. Sometimes, Orihime makes him a lunch "because that's what nakama do, Ishida-kun!" and he eats it, because he's too polite to complain about wasabi on ginger pork with honey. Ichigo remembers the time Rukia tried doing the same thing in the Soul Society for Renji and knows Ishida does as well.

_Probably another reason he doesn't complain_, thinks Ichigo.

"Are Asano-san and Kojima-san still on their vacation?" asks Uryu. He asks the same thing as he asked before, a subtle reminder why he is here, though he would never directly admit it.

Nakama make sure nakama are never lonely.

And Ichigo says, "Hai," and scowls like he knows what Uryu doesn't say. Which he does.

It wouldn't be so bad with just Uryu there – he doesn't talk that much. Neither does Chad, who appears a little while after Uryu, sometimes eating, sometimes not, just sitting there, his presence saying it all.

Chad is welcome, too.

However, when a certain blue haired espada shows up halfway through lunch, Ichigo's patience wears thin.

"Yo, Spiky," he always has a different nickname for Ichigo whenever he shows up. A side effect of his indoctrination into the "Humans Are Friends Not Toys Seminar" he's going through, courtesy of Eleventh Division Fukutaicho Yachiru. "Hurry up and eat. I'm bored and need a fight." Balanced on the railing surrounding the roof of the school, Grimmjow glares down at the substitute shinigami, hands shoved in the pockets of his hakama, his coat open as usual to reveal his muscular chest.

Ichigo doesn't want to even think about what would happen if any of the girls in his class came up here and met him – fangirl crushes cause an ipecac-type effect on his stomach. "Beat it," he retorts, taking a gulp from his milk.

Instead, the espada leaps off the bar and drifts over, landing gently next to Ichigo's bento. With one sweep, his hand picks up the plastic container and he rummages through it.

"Give me that!" growls Ichigo, snatching it back, but not before the espada takes the dessert.

Frowning at the bright red package, Grimmjow turns it over in his hands. "How the ing hell do you open this ing thing?"

Ichigo sets the bento to one side and stands up. "Give it back, you-"

Right on cue, another shadow blots out the sun, this time from behind and the shade manages to cover the entire group. Well, maybe all of Chad, whose long brown locks still shine dully in the spring sun.

Crouched on the massive heat ventilator overlooking the scene, Zaraki Kenpachi rests his elbows on his knees and grins, the scar on his face contorting into a demon mask or a map of a single interstate freeway. One callused hand rests upon the sword at his hip, the other cups his chin as he waits. Day after day he waits like this, arrives just as they all start it off.

Grimmjow dodges the shinigami's grab for the package, still trying to open it. "The hell kinda world you live in, Ichigo?" he grumbles. With a frustrated snarl, he draws his zanpakuto and slashes through the package completely.

Brightly colored Skittles dance their rainbow across the rooftop; a giggle sounds from behind Zaraki as Grimmjow grabs for a few and almost falls over in the attempt. Yachiru clambers up Zaraki's back, sitting on her captain's shoulder. "Don't you like Skittles, bluey-tan?" she asks. "Beat him up, Ichi!"

"GRIMMJOW!" A bright light burst from Ichigo's frame as he pulls out a familiar token and slaps it to his head. "You're going down!" His spirit separating, the amount of reiatsu emanating from the young man doubles abruptly; the cloth around Zangetsu unfurled as he charges towards the Skittle-stuffing espada.

"What?" Zaraki leaps from his sitting position and lands on the roof. "Oi, Ichigo! Forget him, and fight me! Look!" He reaches down and scoops up a green sphere, popping it into his mouth. "I'm eating your Skittles!" He swears as he realizes the boy is paying no attention. "Ahhh, screw it." Sunlight glints off his battered sword as he charges toward the combatants.

Chad leaps to his feet, his arms already warping into their spiritual forms, ready to assist Ichigo after hauling his unconscious physical form to safety. Meanwhile, Uryu attempts to keep Fukutaicho Yachiru from eating the rest of his lunch, fighting a losing battle.

Tossing aside the empty Skittles package, Grimmjow grins ferally at Ichigo, bringing up his blade to counter the Shinigami's zanpakuto. The smile drops out of sight as a swipe from Zaraki's sword snips an inch off the blue growth of his brow; he kicks out, foot connecting with the Shinigami captain's knee.

Undeterred, Zaraki grabs the foot and forces it up into the air, causing the arrancar to fall flat on his back. Switching targets, the Shinigami captain directs a chop toward his other opponent.

Ichigo sidesteps, whirling Zangetsu diagonally and towards Kenpanchi's neck.

Laughing, Kenpachi catches it on his blade only just in time, the edge of Ichigo's zanpakuto nicking the skin.

Grimmjow stands again, raising his zanpakuto. "Kishire, Pan-"

Still laughing, the Shinigami captain puts a hand to his eyepatch in midswing.

His sword does not slash Ichigo, but bounces off the armored shield of Chad's arm. The tanned giant flexes his fingers, speaking in unison with Grimmjow, "Buraso Isukier-"

And with them, Ichigo's voice grates forth, "Ban-"

The last voice overtakes the other three, interrupts them, sends them packing. "Baklava!"

All four freeze, and Yachiru looks up from stuffing her face with the contents of Uryu's bento, the Quincy dangerously close to engaging his Ginrei Kojaku.

Resplendent in school uniform and smiling as brightly as ever, Inoue Orihime sails out of the stairwell, a large pan of Greek Dessert in her hands.

They look at her, glare at each other, make a few final threatening gestures, and sheath their weapons. Grimmjow sits down next to Uryu, Zaraki leaning on the heat vent on the other side of the Quincy with Yachiru scrambling up onto his shoulder again. And Ichigo stomps back to his physical body, foot lashing out in a vicious kick to send the last Skittle skittering over the edge of the building into the street below.

Once again, the timely arrival of Inoue Orihime breaks up the meeting of the Karakura Piss-Off Club. The fact that she never adds anything weird to the Baklava when she makes it helps, too.

Opposites attract. Likeness conflicts. And nakama are never lonely.

_Owari_

A/N: Dedicated to Red Miko for her Kisses Like Snowflakes series and all the random encounters within.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This was originally going to be a oneshot by itself, but I figured it was more along the line of the Piss Off Society story. Therefore, here it is. Enjoy! I Own None of the characters and attempted to take a leaf out of the Red Miko's book by keeping them in character.

"Two."

The sound of two cards dealt off the deck skid against the kotatsu top. A large hand picks them up and an eye narrows to study them, along with their three brothers. "Hmph," grumped Zaraki.

Ever smiling, the opponent to his right looks over. "Maa, Kenpachi-taicho, yer karma ain't favorin' ya tonight." Ichimaru Gin's cards are spread out face down in front of him and one can tell he has committed them to memory. His face fails to cease its perpetual smirk even for a moment as he slides a card away from his own hand and replaces it with the one the dealer gives to him.

"Silence!" hisses the third, bulbous eyes narrowing. Kurotsuchi Mayuri's eyes flicker from opponent to opponent, mouth uncharacteristically drawn down at the corners. One long fingered hand strokes the side of his head, touching the peculiar ram's horn headdress almost in a plea for luck. "I must concentrate…"

"Shut your whinin' and hurry up," growls Kenpachi, bells jingling on his hair as he rests his chin in his hand. His hand taps the cards against the tabletop.

It's a few hours since they've all been paid, their Soul Society wages doled out by severe-looking representatives of the new council of forty-six. Of course, Gin is still on probation since the whole Aizen debacle, but that doesn't stop him from joining. The others wonder where he gets the money, but Zaraki doesn't really care, Mayuri's more concerned about winning it from him, and Hanataro-

Shoulders hunched as though to apologize for his low rank among three of the Soul Society's highest officers, the seventh seat of the fourth division shivers in suppressed terror. His sleep-darkened eyes flick from captain to captain, avoiding eye contact. One might wonder how he came to be there, to play poker of all things with three of the most terrifying Soul Reapers in the entire Soul Society**.**

Truth be told, Hanataro wonders that himself.

"Three cards, _bouzu_!"

Jumping at the sudden statement, Hanataro shrinks lower as the scientist Shinigami turns his manic glare upon him. Impatient, Kurotsuchi snapped his fingers, one of his eyes dilating as he scans Hanataro's hands, watching for bottom-dealing. Again, he sees nothing and snatches the proffered cards.

"D-d-dealer takes none," stammers the seventh seat. Holding his cards up higher in front of his face, he tries to shield himself from the sudden rise in intensity from Zaraki's glare and Kurotsuchi's stare. "Ano…I fold-"

"Oh, no you don't," growls the eleventh division captain, eye narrowing to a dangerous slit. "If you did that, I might accidentally take off this eye patch." He taps the concealing eyewear.

"Yade yade."(Yare yare, I think) Gin rests his chin on his folded hands, smirk widening ever so slightly. "Hanataro-_kun­_ has possessed extraordinary luck this evening. Surely he doesn't wish to give up when he is…how does the living world say," here, his eyes open fractionally, a hint of red beaming toward the hapless Hanataro, "'On a roll?'"

Kurotsuchi says nothing, staring at Hanataro, his bony knuckles cracking ominously.

Shivering in terror, the boy slumps lower in his chair. "Check," he squeaks.

Continuing to glare, Zaraki picks up two chips and tosses them on to the moderately-sized pile in the center. "I bet two."

"I'll see ya, and raise ya two." The chips click onto the pile and Gin returns his hands to underneath his chin, eyes still open a crack to allow the crimson to show, eyes fixed on Hanataro.

Clearing his throat with a sound of rocks and rotting meat compacting together, the scientist captain lets nine chips drop from his long fingers. "Five," he says, turning his gaze upon Hanataro.

"A-ano…" a worried smile crosses the boy's face. "I would like to fol-"

"Come, come, Hanataro-_kun_!" chuckles Gin. "This is your chance to fight for the honor of Fourth Division!" With a sigh, he adjusts the chips in front of him. "I might sweeten the pot." A slip of paper appears in his hand. "Rangiku owes me a favor or two. This one entails a kiss, on one of those-" he raises an eyebrow at the foreign word. "'Valentines' she and the Inoue girl were making in the world of the living." The paper flutters to join the rest of the chips.

"D-demo!" Hanataro's eyes widen. "I d-d-don't want-"

"Heh heh heh…" Zaraki's grin sprouts suddenly, fiendish and bright. "I'd enjoy winning something like that, only I'd swap it for her looking after Yachiru for an evening while I go train." He slams his fist on the table, causing Hanataro to jump in surprise and the chips to leap with impact. "Fine. Kid, if ya win this one, I'll transfer ya to Eleventh Division and you can be joint lieutenant with Yachiru."

"Demo! I-is th-th-that even allowed?" Hanataro presses himself so far back in his chair that he nearly becomes one with the cushion under the crushing weight of their stares. "Because-"

Rubbing a finger across his bottom lip, Kurotsuchi smirks. "Hnnn…if I won, what good would that do me?"

"So I'll owe ya a favor," dismisses Zaraki. Gin nods to show he would as well.

The scientist captain nods as well. "Whoever wins this next hand, I will have Nemu attend to their every need for one day. Paperwork, sword practice dummy…" his golden eyes linger over Zaraki and move on to Hanataro, "or to hone…other…skills in which you are sadly deficient," he cackles, giving the seventh seat boy a look up and down. With a quick motion, he spreads his cards face up on the table in front of him. "I call. Three kings."

Zaraki follows suit, his fiendish grin turning into a sinister chuckle. "Too bad, Mayuri. Full house with queens and aces. Looks like I'm gonna have a peaceful evening soon-" His huge hand is caught by a slender one as it reaches for the mound of clay disks.

"Maa, Zaraki-taicho. Not so hasty." A flash of white follows the disposal of his cards on the table, four twos in ebony and ruby.

By this time, Hanataro's chair is empty. The three catch sight of him pulling a hasty shunpo out the nearby window. Zaraki picks up his abandoned hand and his eye bulges at what he sees. "Naniiii?"

By the time he's gotten the eyepatch off and is out the window, Hanataro's disappeared in the under tunnels of the Soul Society.

He can't hide forever, though.

When Ikkaku and Yumichika see Hanataro the next day, the bald man turns to his friend after observing for awhile. "Since when did the captain carry Yamada around on his back next to Yachiru?"

Flicking back his hair, the other shrugs. "I don't know. Zaraki-taicho looks grumpy about it, though he wouldn't do it without a reason. Ugh," a scowl falls across the man's face as a certain tenth division lieutenant walks up, "Rangiku."

"Yes, yes, she's prettier than you. I know already, get over it," says Ikkaku, hastily cutting off the usual stream of complaints. "She- oh. What the hell?! Did she just reach up and give Hanataro a kiss?!"

Thoughts of jealousy streaming away before a wave of shock, Yumichika blinks. "She must have. He's falling off in surprise-" he winces. "He just cracked his head on the tiles."

"Wow. Did Nemu just come out of nowhere?" Blinking and rubbing a hand across his eyes to make sure he isn't hallucinating, the bald shinigami's mouth falls open. "Now she's tending to his wound. And mopping his brow. And offering him iced saki." He exchanges flabbergasted expressions with his friend. As one, they both run forward to the prone seventh seat's side, just as Rangiku was walking away, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"Oi, Yamada," says Yumichika, resting a hand on his zanpakuto. "How are you so popular with the ladies and Zaraki all of a sudden?"

The dazed fourth division boy with the innocent features looks up at Ikkaku, eyes unfocused, and mumbles, "Straight flush and full marks in statistics."

A/N: Hee, Hanataro would probably be even more popular than Keigo, ne? Thanks to the people who read and reviewed my first chapter! Everybody's Neesan and Arsenic Android, take a bow or three!


End file.
